Chronologically
by Mint Pearl Voice
Summary: this happened, and then this happened, and he wasn't sure what had happened, except that it had a beginning, middle, and end. Their relationship, chronologically.


Chronologically

The first time they meet, she ties the detective to a bed at the Grand, teases him with her breath on his skin, her lips against his, and jumps from the window with a haunting smile just as the Yard arrives. He isn't sure what he wants to do first once his hands are freed: touch himself, or just wring her neck.

and

The gang of counterfeit ticket scalpers represents a serious threat to even London's more financially solvent theater companies. The Savoy Theater debates canceling its annual benefit performance- scared to lose their money, few of their usual patrons had bought tickets, leaving the local orphanage with which the profits would have been shared in definite need of funds. Irene nabs a pirate captain's wig from the dressing room and infiltrates one of the organization's meetings. Everything's going swimmingly until, one by one, her hairpins drop loose.

"What the-"

"It's a woman, the one on the posters-"

The small cellar erupts into chaos. Irene's already prepared, taking her first attacker down with a swung chair, the second with a seemingly never-used broom- but the third gets her in a choke hold from behind and squeezes her neck. She struggles, even as dark spots invade her vision-

And then the drunkard in the corner, who's been nearly silent this whole time, springs like a tiger and yanks the man off her, kicking him a few times for good measure even after he's down. Irene watches, half-horrified, spellbound.

They regard each other, unlikely savior and still-suspicious rescuee. Then: "You're in over your head, Irene."

She recognizes his voice.

and

On a whim, he attends her wedding. He's an uncle of an obscure relative on the groom's side, the dilapidated sort whose mildly amusing presence no one thinks to question.

The enormous ring she cajoled whoever-it-is into buying her glitters on her hand; she smiles at everyone, clings to her husband's arm throughout the entire reception, staring admiringly up at him, the perfectly syncophantic wife.

"A toast to the happy couple," Holmes, standing on his chair, slurs in an Irish brogue. Glasses clink throughout the hall, and Irene smiles- not recognizing him, but seeming to appreciate the sentiment.

By Jove, she looks radiant.

He doesn't envy the man one bit.

and

The expensive eatery is Irene's favorite restaurant- call her overly picky, but no other location in London seems capable of brewing a perfectly formulated pot of jasmine tea, and she does _so_ love jasmine tea. (India, on the other hand…)

Olives, the appetizer plate's centerpiece, fascinate Holmes. They have almost the exact mouthfeel of eyeballs, and one can play Mancala with the pips. Additionally, they have excellent combat properties. He starts by spitting one at her nose after she withholds the methods of her latest scheme. Finding his childishness rather amusing, she says, "I'll bet you can't hit that lamp over there."

Amazingly enough, he does.

Irene rolls an olive between her fingers- "Let me try-" –and pops it into her mouth.

Before long, the detective and the thief are giggling like schoolchildren. Irene has to bite the inside of her lip to keep from breaking into a full-on guffaw. She possesses more precise accuracy, but Holmes' shots are more impressive for distance.

At the end of the meal, he leans forward, purses his lips-

And, from one-quarter of the way across the dining hall, hits the hand of a nasal-voiced, greasy-haired waiter who's been snubbing them all evening, causing him to drop a tray of entrees and, shocked, trip over a chair. In his other hand, he held a tray of drinks; water soaks the waiter's face and shirt.

Irene bursts into spontaneous applause.

and

She knows something's wrong before she's even put down her teacup. Her tonsils feel like they've decided to grow together, swelling, closing off her throat-

"I don't blame you. I blame myself."

Swallowing _hurts._

and

The handkerchief flutters into the wind like a small white bird, a twirling ghost in the gusts. It lands spread out on the water, undulates for a moment before a wave's undertow snatches it from sight permanently.

and


End file.
